Room For Regret
by Ninkita
Summary: Five years of loneliness and regret, born of one night of passion. What will it take for Carlisle to move past the guilt? *'Best Mismatch Award at the Anything Goes Contest*


**A/N:** I wrote this for the Anything Goes Contest, and it was picked for the 'Best Mismatch' award by judge Jessa Ryan. Heartfelt thanks to the organizers and judges, and everyone associated with the contest. It was so much fun to just let go and write!

And as always, thanks to Maggie (NewTwilightFan) for going over this even though she doesn't have a lot of free time these days. This was a mess before she got to it and made it all pretty. She's the best!

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Room for Regret**

Carlisle hadn't seen a sunrise in years. He hadn't seen many sunsets either. If he stopped to really think about it, he had seen precious few rays of the noonday sun either. It was such a waste of one's life to spend it indoors, always indoors. Always breathing in recycled air. Always working, always alone.

He blinked at the thought of what his life had become, and rubbed his palms over his face. Five years in New York City and he knew nothing but the way from his apartment to the hospital and back. That was quite a turn of the book for a former self-proclaimed ladies man and all-round life of the party. He huffed a laugh. He hadn't even gotten laid in five years.

A quick glance at the slim gold watch on his wrist told him that he had been off the clock for a couple of hours already. So why was he still making the rounds, checking on patients and updating charts? He might justify his habits by saying that doctors were always on the job, but he knew the truth. He knew what he was hiding from. He didn't really know how to deal with being alone. The trouble was that he couldn't find it in himself to deal with people anymore, either. Or his own self. Whatever.

Frustrated with his thoughts, he decided it was a good time to take a break for lunch. Maybe actually take off for the day; he wasn't really needed here just now.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

Ten minutes later, he was walking down the road, appreciating each deep breath of air that filled his lungs, luxuriating in the warmth of the summer sun. A light breeze ruffled up his silver-blond hair and circled under his collar, tendrils of the cool air licking at the beads of sweat that had just begun to seep from his skin. He paused at the stop light along with a handful of other people. The wind picked up as the light changed and he stepped into the crosswalk. He absently noted that the spot seemed to be a wind trap, a triangular intersection framed by tall buildings.

The breeze pushed against his body again a little more aggressively than before. Up ahead, he saw a couple of rickety card tables set up with handmade signs above them. Probably at least one table handing out 'come to Jesus' pamphlets, he thought sardonically, and two or three others selling some kind of organic food. He might have considered trying the cupcakes, but the stall appeared to be unmanned at the moment. Turning away with a slight shrug, he walked past a simple bamboo-frame erected in the shape of a small hut. It had a roof, but no walls; instead, string had been tied in tiers around the structure on three sides. From these strings, held in place by small clothes pegs, hung letter sized sheets of paper, with some sort of writing on them. Another set of papers were suspended in similar fashion between two slender poles in front of the paper hut, with a sign on top that read 'The Strangers Project'.

Carlisle cocked his head in mild interest, but kept walking. He was already halfway across the clearing to the next intersection when a particularly strong gust of wind caused the poles in front of the hut to wobble on their supports. After swaying drunkenly in place for a moment, they flopped to the ground, looking like a failed, flimsy washing line.

Acting on instinct, Carlisle stepped over and helped a young man with a scraggly beard and nerdy glasses to right the entire contraption.

"Thanks, sir," said the young man. "Could you hold on to the pole for a minute? I'll just add some weight to the base. The wind's getting stronger and this thing has already fallen over twice."

"Sure, do your thing," said Carlisle with a grin. "What is this anyway? The newest way to air out your dirty laundry?"

The guy laughed and shook his head. "You could say that. Nah, just a project we've been working on. Everyone has a story, you know? We ask them to put down whatever they want... an incident, something funny, something that made an impact on them, basically anything that is important to them... as long as it's true. It's anonymous, so there's no judgment. Then we put up these exhibitions in different places. I've had a bunch of people stop by today, asking if they could write something as well. It's a powerful thing, being able to share your story, put something of your soul out there, I guess." He shrugged, positioning the last box at the base of the pole. He shoved it gently to test its stability, and dusted his hands. "There, that should hold. Thanks again. Why don't you take a look at some of the stories we've put up? It's really intriguing, the different ways people look at the world. Maybe you'd like to write something as well."

Carlisle nodded politely. "Sure, why not." But he knew there was no way he would be contributing something here. There just wasn't enough space on a single piece of paper for all the regret he harbored in his heart. It had shaped the last five years of his life in ways he didn't like to think about. He had moved to a new city, found a job, built a new life, but underneath it all, he had lost something vital the day he had pushed _her_ away.

The young man loped back to his table where a couple of giggling girls in short shorts were waving for his attention. Carlisle saw one of the girls checking him out and winked, smirking in satisfaction when she sent him back a flirtatious look. He shook his head and turned away, gratified that at 42, he still had it.

He fiddled with the keys in his pocket for a moment, before shrugging and walking towards the hut of stories. He skimmed over the papers pegged up on one side, seeing nothing but the differences in handwriting at first pass... neat, small, printed, scrawled, large and sloppy, here a clever sketch, there a rigid border. What a lot we could learn about a person from their penmanship, he mused. He stopped at one, drawn in by the obvious exuberance displayed at the end of the page, where certain words had been heavily underlined and written in all-capitals. He skimmed the page, smiling reluctantly at the story of a boy who met a girl in an airport, probably never to see her again, but still so hopeful that they would be together again, someday, somewhere.

He moved to another, written in beautiful cursive script. It started by talking of the writer's trepidation when a new pastor had moved to their parish. For a moment, he wondered idly if this was going to be a confession about dirty deeds in the church, but by the second paragraph, he felt his heart expand with unexpected emotion. The writer spoke of the hope and guidance she had received through a terrible time and how it had strengthened her belief in the grace of God. Carlisle let out a shaky breath, his expression soft, as he considered how difficult it was in this day and age to let oneself believe in things like faith and redemption. He shook away his own barely suppressed remorse, and moved to the inside of the hut-structure.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps between the flapping pages, and reflected off the white sheets to give the interior of the small space a soft glow. He stood, protected from the direct glare of the sun, yet each page was perfectly lit up to read in the shade. He stopped and read a few more papers, attracted to some by their bold, artistic script, to others by the visuals that formed an essential part of their narrative.

Then he saw a familiar, neat, slanted hand that he had seen a hundred times before. He stopped to catch his breath, his hand instinctively clutching at his chest, his vision hazy. He squeezed his eyes shut and consciously calmed himself. Opening his eyes, he confirmed that he was not imagining things—it really was her handwriting, right in front of him. Steeling himself, he began to read.

 _Dear Strangers,_

 _Have you ever done something so terrible that it made you want to die? Yet you still did it, because it was the right thing to do... the only thing to do?_

 _I slept with my father's best friend. And no, that_ _wasn't_ _the terrible thing I did._

 _It was the night of dad's funeral. Everything was falling apart, and I was so alone. He was the only one who saw the depth of my pain. He had always been a part of my life, for as long as I could remember. When dad died, he was just as gutted as I was. He was the only one I knew I could trust. I needed the comfort, and he gave me everything I asked for that night. He gave me love. He gave me peace. It was beautiful, the only happy memory during the most painful period of my life._

 _But you see, he's married. And he may have broken all the rules that night, but he is a good man. I saw him the next morning, and I knew the guilt was eating him up. His wife was with him and he looked so torn. So I did the right thing, even though it killed me to hurt him. I pulled away; I was rude, brash, deliberately cold and offhand. I never told him why. I hated it, but hoped he thought I had used him and dumped him. I moved for college and haven't seen him in five years._

 _On one hand, I am happy because I know I did the right thing, prevented his life from getting messed up. But on the other hand, I just miss him so much. He was my only link to my father. I'll never forget what he did for me that one night. I just wish he knew what it meant to me._

Carlisle blinked away the unexpected tears that had gathered in his eyes. Bringing out his phone, he carefully took a picture of her letter. He took his time inside the paper-hut, calming himself down so nobody would see that his entire world had just been rocked on its foundations.

...

Carlisle couldn't sit still. He wandered from the bedroom to the living room, stared unseeingly at the TV before switching it off and wandering over to the kitchen. A few minutes staring into the open refrigerator didn't offer any answers either, so he drifted back to his bedroom. He dug out a couple of photo albums from his dresser. Tossing them onto his bed, he gazed at them warily for a minute.

Finally giving in to the desire that he had buried away for years, he sat and pulled one over to him.

There she was, his one regret—Bella. His best friend's daughter.

Flipping through the photographs, he couldn't help but smile. Charlie had not just been his best friend; they were closer than brothers. And Bella... he had held her as a baby. He hadn't been around a lot during those early years thanks to the demands of medical school, residency, internship… but he had made it a point to stay in touch. He had been there for Charlie when Renee had walked out on him and Bella. He had helped Charlie set up a college fund for her, quietly adding to it over the years. He had bought Bella everything from fluffy pink toys as a kid, to the best laptop on the market when she was accepted into MIT. He had seen her grow up from a gangly, unsure pre-teen, to a beautiful, vivacious young woman.

He chuckled at the memory of how she had tried to hide her crush on him at sixteen. She had gotten over that pretty fast when he married Elizabeth, who she had never hesitated to inform him she despised. That was also around the time he had gone from 'Uncle Carlisle' to just 'Carlisle'.

He had never, in all those years, dreamed that things would change between them. But that was the thing with life. It didn't really turn out the way you expected.

He picked up a photograph of Charlie and Bella from her high school graduation. He hadn't been around for it, busy at a conference in Seattle, but like always, Charlie had sent him a picture. Bella looked so happy, so grown-up and self assured. And Charlie... that summer, just a couple of weeks after this picture had been taken, he had been shot at by some desperate fool in a ski mask who was trying to burgle a store. He had bled out before he reached the hospital.

Carlisle had been the one to hold Bella when she broke down under the shock and grief of losing the only family she had. He was the one who had arranged everything for the funeral, called Charlie's lawyers, and taken care of all the million little details contingent to wrapping up a life that were beyond a grieving eighteen year old.

The day of the funeral had been particularly hard. His wife, Elizabeth, hadn't cared much for his friendship with Charlie, and was the last person he could depend upon to understand his grief anyway.

It was heartbreaking to see his closest friend, his brother, being lowered into the ground. He remembered with horrible clarity those moments just after, when he was almost unable to breathe. Bella had slipped her hand into his, her presence gently soothing him until he was able to function again.

He had stayed over at the Swan house that night to help Bella go through Charlie's papers before his lawyer came over the next morning. The last of the neighbors and well wishers had left a couple of hours ago, and he had sent Bella up to her room after making sure that she had eaten a little of the casserole old Mrs. Cope had brought over. Bella hadn't put up much of a fight; she was physically and emotionally worn out. He expected her to be out like a light the minute her head hit the pillow.

It was a surprise, therefore, when the door to the study opened a crack, and Bella slipped inside. She looked so lost and sad, and yet so beautiful in that moment, all he wanted was to comfort her and take away her pain.

He stood from the desk where he had been decimating the contents of a bottle of whiskey, and held out his hand wordlessly. She almost ran across the room, clinging to his body, her eyes screwed shut and face buried in his chest.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked quietly, hugging her close and running one hand through her long silky brown hair, comforting her the way he had done when she was a child.

She tilted her head, pressing her face against his neck. Her cheeks were damp with tears, and her breath was warm against the sensitive skin of his throat. Through the fog of whiskey and his own grief, he registered a wave of warmth and pleasure. It felt good to hold her close, to feel her soft curves molding against his. She wasn't a child anymore, he realized with a jolt.

"Carlisle," she whispered. "I can't sleep. If I drop off, I see dad, and blood," she shuddered. "So much blood. And then there's blood on my hands, on my clothes, and I can't escape it. I always wake up feeling as though I'm the one who got shot. It's so real. I can't bear it anymore," she moaned, a sound of heart-wrenching sadness. "I want my dad back, Carlisle. Please, just bring my dad back." Her eyes were glazed over with tears, and her hands clenched and unclenched on his shirt. He let her unburden herself, forgetting his momentary lapse in the face of her anguish.

"Bella, my darling girl, I wish I could," he said sadly, kissing her forehead and bringing his hands to her face to wipe away the tears that were escaping her eyes despite her best efforts at restraint. "He was the best man I knew. And it hurts that he's not here anymore. I know how hard it is... I'm barely hanging on right now. But we've got to get through this."

Their faces were inches apart. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

It was a shock, and they both pulled away almost immediately. They just looked at each other for a long moment, neither relinquishing their hold on the other. Finally, with a deep breath, Bella shifted closer.

"Carlisle, will… will you stay with me tonight?" she asked in a whisper, as though afraid to voice her thought. "I can't be alone, it hurts too much. I need you to take it all away. No one else understands."

He closed his eyes, and all he saw was his friend's pale corpse. His eyes flew open, and he saw his own distress reflected in Bella's haunted eyes. He knew he wouldn't sleep that night, and he could understand her need for company. But some inner voice told him what he was reluctant to acknowledge. Bella was asking for more than just a hug. Her pain was too deep, too strong. She was asking for something powerful enough to chase away the darkness, if only for tonight. Carlisle was terrified to admit it, but he wanted the same thing.

Sighing, he pecked Bella on the cheek. "Darling, you can sleep in here tonight. Go get your blankets and a pillow, and you can sleep beside me while I work."

"Please don't," she said, covering his mouth with her own briefly. "You know what I'm asking. And it's just tonight. Please…It hurts so much."

"Bella, we can't. I can't. It's..."

"Carlisle… Make it stop hurting. Please…"

He knew he should have pushed her away and sent her back to bed. He knew he would probably rot in hell for it, but in that moment he couldn't refuse her. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he could bring her a little pleasure in the midst of all her pain? She saw capitulation in his eyes and kissed him softly in gratitude. He soothed her, running his hands over her trembling body, from her back to her shoulders, skimming her sides, down again to just above the curve of her hips.

When she pulled back from his this time, he shook his head slightly with a small grin, tugging at her lower lip with his teeth. A thrill shot through her body and her lips parted in a gasp. He outlined her soft lips with his tongue, slipping in to taste her delicate flavor repeatedly until she recovered from her shock and reciprocated. Her eyes were wide with wonder when they finally pulled away, panting slightly. She ran her fingers over his face, tracing his eyebrows, his lips, his nose, before pushing her fingers into his hair and pulling him back to her lips.

The house was silent except for the erratic beating of two hearts as they willingly stepped into forbidden territory. Then there was nothing but hushed gasps and soft, wet lips parting and meeting, over and over again.

Tightening his arms around her waist, Carlisle lifted her up slightly, walking her towards the couch in the corner of the room. She snapped out of her kiss-induced haze only when he laid her down and stepped away briefly. She didn't give him a chance to rethink their actions, though. She swiftly pulled her t-shirt up and over her head, simultaneously wriggling out of her sleep shorts. Then, clad only in a pair of tiny white cotton panties, she lay back and held out her hands to him.

Her simple actions spoke of a trust so profound that he couldn't hold back any more. He knelt before her and pressed soft kisses to both her palms. Then moving down her body to her feet, he dropped tiny kisses on her little toes, making her giggle. He slowly made his way up her legs, kissing and licking, teasing her and making her tremble with anticipation the closer he came to her panties… her rapidly and obviously dampening panties.

His heart was pounding as he stood at the edge of the precipice… and chose to fall.

He held her gaze as he slowly peeled off the scrap of cloth and tossed it aside. Only then did he lower his eyes to her glistening pink folds. He dipped his head, breathing her in, before kissing a line from the inside of one thigh across to the other. He smiled at the way her breath hitched when he lapped at her clit, sucking on it gently and teasingly.

Bella freely gave herself over to the delight that flooded her body when his hands reached up to her eager breasts and achingly erect nipples. From her reaction it was obvious that her previous experience had been limited to the untutored fumbles of guys her own age. Never before had she been touched by a man who knew what he was doing, whose sole goal was to bring her pleasure. And God knew he had enough experience to know exactly what he was doing.

So he touched her with care, with finesse, with adoration, and she responded with a grace and feral beauty far beyond anything he could have imagined.

He moved up her body and kissed her panting lips—a deep, demanding kiss that made her squirm against him in want. His hands continued their pleasurable assault on her breasts, flicking, twisting and tugging, while he wedged his knee firmly up against her crotch. She let out a long, deep moan as she moved against him, finally getting the friction she sought. Within moments, her eyes flew open, and she threw her head back in pure ecstasy.

Carlisle smirked and guided her down from her high gently, with tender strokes and soft pecks scattered all over her body. He stilled with his forehead on her soft belly, trying to regain control of his own desires. Her slender fingers reached up to stroke through his hair. It felt so good that he let out an involuntary hum of pleasure. Immediately, he felt her abdominal muscles contract. He lifted his head slightly and looked up at her with a raised eyebrow, but she just smiled and shrugged.

He stood, looking around for her clothes, but she stood as well, beautiful in her nakedness, and stilled his movements. Shaking her head when he tried to speak, she kissed him. She seemed to like doing that.

"I'm not sleepy yet, Carlisle," she whispered, biting down on his earlobe and tugging slightly. She smirked at his sharp inhalation, pressing up against him and feeling exactly how she was affecting him. "Take off your shirt."

Ignoring his pained look, she reached for his trousers, undoing his belt before he could comprehend what she intended. But when she sank to her knees and started unbuttoning his pants, he snapped out of his lust-filled stupor. Tugging his shirt over his head still buttoned, he quickly leaned down to help her stand again. Her face fell, clouded over with the swift, sharp pang of rejection.

He stalled her half-formed sounds of protests with a deep, barely controlled kiss. "I won't last if you do that, darling. If you're sure… If you still want to do this…"

"I'm sure," she said. "Please, Carlisle."

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down the instant rush of arousal that pulsed through him at her words. Then he stepped out of his trousers and boxers, standing bare and wanting before her.

Licking her lips, she took a step forward, then another, till her rosy nipples rubbed up against his chest with every inhale and exhale. His firm erection sat snug against her soft belly. It was as though the world fell silent and the only sound was his heartbeat pounding through his chest. She moved, as though in slow motion, and placed her palm flat against his heart, and in that moment, she was the centre of his universe.

He moved his open palms down her sensitive sides, making her tremble. He smoothed over her ass, squeezing lightly, before moving to the tops of her thighs and suddenly lifting her up. With a slight squeal, she brought her legs up and around his waist, hanging on to his shoulders as he turned and walked swiftly to the desk. Placing her carefully at the edge, he positioned her to his liking, knees wide and her weight resting on her elbows.

His kisses and sure touches pushed her further and further from sanity. When she was half delirious with want, he entered her, sliding in slowly so that she could feel every thick inch of him as he finally gave her the fulfillment she had been yearning for.

Sweat beaded his skin and rolled down in lazy streaks as he succumbed to the pleasures of her body, seeking and withdrawing again and again, until he could think of nothing beyond the moment, beyond the woman in his arms. His focus on her helped him stave off his own impending release, and he redoubled his efforts to push her over the edge. She threw her head back, crying out as her body seized up in an intense orgasm. He stilled, trying not to lose it when her walls clamped down in such a welcoming embrace.

When she was coherent enough to sit up, he brushed the hair away from her forehead tenderly. "You okay, baby?"

Her answer was to lean in and lick the sweat from his collarbone, while simultaneously clenching around his still hard erection. "More," she demanded.

With a growl, he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled out of her. Setting her feet on the ground, he plundered her mouth until she was once again wantonly grinding up against him. "Bend over the arm of the couch. Now," he murmured against her lips.

Without a word, without hesitation, she walked to the couch. He didn't waste a minute, walking up behind her and smoothing his hands over her back and ass, down her thighs and back up her sides, reaching under to her breasts. With one swift thrust, he joined their bodies once again. The rhythm he now set up was punishing, her gushing release having provided excellent lubrication for his large girth to slide in and out with ease.

Breathing was not essential anymore; this… marking his place within her glorious body… this was all that mattered.

The last shreds of decency and convention were stripped away as they growled and moaned and grunted, taking everything they needed, shamelessly, relentlessly.

Carlisle couldn't hold back his grin at her expression of wonderment when they finally collapsed, spent on the couch. He gave himself a moment to revel in the primitive satisfaction of seeing streams of his cum trailing down her thighs, before softly and carefully wiping it away with a handful of tissues.

Her eyelids were heavy, and for the first time since her father had passed, she seemed to be at peace. Pulling on his boxers, Carlisle cradled her tenderly in his arms and walked up to her bedroom. He drew the covers over her naked body and smoothed out her tangled hair as best he could. She was asleep within minutes, a deep sleep untroubled by dreams or nightmares. He sat by her side for another hour, just stroking her hair and looking out of the window into the vast night sky. At length, he stood, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and walked back down to the study.

.

.

.

In the cold light of day, he tortured himself, rethinking every moment that had seemed so perfect the night before. His own desire for Bella had shaken him. He had played the role of an uncle her whole life, and the ease with which he had pushed aside the sanctity of that relationship bothered him a lot more than his disregard of his marriage vows to Elizabeth. He couldn't even find it in himself to blame the whiskey. Charlie had always joked that Carlisle would wake up one day and find that his dick had led him into a bigger mess than he could get out of. It seemed a bit of a sick coincidence that it was at his friend's funeral that Carlisle finally found himself facing the consequences of his unabashed sexual appetite.

He had no doubt that Bella would regret their night together. She had been so vulnerable last night, and he had taken advantage of her. What would she be thinking of him? He knew her… he knew she would feel guilty, thinking she had seduced him, an older man, a married man.

He let out a short, manic laugh. He couldn't bear to see that guilt and regret on her face, especially knowing that it was he who had put it there. The way he saw it, he had already ruined any chance of being part of her life. The best thing he could do for her at that point was to come up with some way to push her away instead.

.

.

.

Breaking out of his tortured thoughts of the past, Carlisle dug out his phone to read her letter once again. If what she had written was true, she didn't hate him after all. Strangely enough, she seemed to think it was a result of her attempts at pushing him away… to protect _him_ from guilt. The irony of it all made him laugh.

He started pacing, the possibilities too exciting to be borne sedately. Charlie was gone, but maybe he didn't need to lose Bella as well. Maybe he could fix the mess that he had created five years ago. Maybe she would... no, he didn't even dare hope.

Grabbing his phone, he made a call.

"Hello, Jenks? Yes, I need some information."

…

Carlisle braced himself and knocked on the door of the apartment. After what seemed like eons, the door swung open. Her face registered stunned surprise, and then utter delight, as she launched herself into his arms. Laughing, he hugged her close, dropping a kiss on top of her head.

"How have you been, Bella?" he asked, holding her at arm's length and taking in her appearance. In ratty jeans and a plain white t-shirt, her hair in a simple ponytail, she looked exactly the same as the teenager he remembered.

Her eyes widened and she took a step back, a mask of impassivity sliding over her features. "I'm good. How did you know where I live?"

Ignoring her coldly polite tone of voice, Carlisle stepped past her into the small but comfortable living room just beyond. "Nice place. I got the address from your dad's lawyer, Jenks. And it's not like I ever lost sight of you, Bella. Now, are you going to keep standing there pretending you aren't happy to see me?"

She blinked and shut the door. "What…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Sure, some water would be nice," he smiled.

She looked confused, but walked into the kitchen and returned with two bottles of chilled water. They sat in silence for a few moments. He drank a little water, while she looked him over more closely, noting all the small changes in his appearance. She thought there was more silver in his hair, and a few more fine lines near his eyes. But the real change was the sense of gravity—the serious set of his jaw, perhaps—that she didn't remember from the dashing, perpetually cheerful Carlisle of five years ago.

His voice broke into her abstraction. "I know you're wondering what I'm doing here after all this time. I'll tell you everything, but first I need to apologize. I'm sorry I've been so distant all these years, darling. I honestly thought it was the best thing for you, but now I've realized it was possibly the stupidest thing I've ever done."

She paled and fidgeted, twisting and untwisting the edge of her t-shirt. "I don't understand what you mean, Carlisle. You don't need to apologize. I mean… why…"

"I should have been there for you, Bella," he cut in, leaning forward. "I failed Charlie, and I failed you."

She gulped a little, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "No, it's not your fault. You have your own life, and it's ok, I understand."

"No, Bella. You really don't." He reached out and took one of her hands in his. "I never even told you how much that night meant to me."

She sat up as though electrified, snatching her hand back and looking anywhere but at him. "Carlisle, stop. You don't need to say a word. It was a difficult time for both of us, I get that. Just, let's not… can't we just forget it ever happened?"

He sighed, wondering if he should let it be. Then he thought of her letter, and knew he had to push. "I honestly think we need to talk about it, darling. All these years, the thought that you regretted what we did, it's been eating at me. I couldn't even bear to be around you, to see you looking guilty about something that was so important to me… I don't want to waste any more time living that way."

If she had looked shocked earlier, she now looked positively gobsmacked. "You thought I felt guilty? But… what do you mean… I saw you that morning. You regretted it, Carlisle. You came over with your wife, and you avoided even looking at me."

"Really? Is that what you thought? And what did you do about it?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, already knowing what she would say, thanks to her 'stranger' note. She hesitated, and he shook his head. "Just say it, Bella."

"I didn't want you to feel that way. I behaved like a brat so your wife wouldn't find out what we'd done. That's why I cut off all contact with you." Her lip trembled and she suddenly burst out crying. "I'm sorry, Carlisle. I know I had forced you into it, but I don't regret it. What I do regret is staying away all these years. I missed dad, and I missed you! I wanted to call and tell you every time I got an A on an assignment. I wanted to invite you for my graduation. But I couldn't, don't you see? I couldn't come back and mess your life up again."

Carlisle felt as though a tight knot in his gut had unraveled, and he could breathe again. Hope flared in all its unpredictable, inappropriate glory. He leaned over and wiped away her tears. "Darling girl, you weren't the only one trying to protect someone that day. I acted like a total ass to you for exactly the same reasons that you acted like a brat. What we did that night, I knew it wasn't about romance—we both needed the comfort." He smiled when she nodded emphatically. "But I care about you so much, and I was sure you would regret it. That's why I tried to make you hate me the next morning."

A glimmer of a smile lit up her face. "It kind of succeeded. But I always thought you stayed away because of _my_ behavior. Wow, so you're saying that we both pushed away for exactly the same reason… and that the reason didn't even exist?"

He nodded with an apologetic smile that morphed into a full-fledged grin when she reached over to hug him. His heart swelled with emotion, though he couldn't really focus on any one of the multiple strands of feeling that her warm touch had incited. Gladness, familiarity, a touch of melancholy, and maybe something akin to desire? Affection overrode all else.

He stroked her soft hair and pulled back a little. "I have another confession. I saw your letter to the Strangers Project last week. It came as a bit of a shock to realize that I had read the situation completely wrong." He laughed incredulously. "I still can't believe I saw it. It's like divine intervention or something. What was that book you used to jabber about? _The Alchemist_ , wasn't it? Something about the universe leading you to what you need most?"

She stared at him wide eyed for a moment, her jaw slack as a deep rose color suffused her face. "Oh my God, what were the odds… I never thought anyone would see that!" she exclaimed, covering her pink cheeks. "I never thought… And you were really ok with that night? You didn't resent me or anything?" she clarified.

"Not at all, Bella," he said sincerely. "I was glad I was there for you that night. I've always just wanted you to be happy, you know."

She smiled at last, a true smile that lit her up from within. "I know. And I am happy. I ah… look," she held out her left hand.

Carlisle stared at her hand for a moment, his mind refusing to make sense of what his eyes were looking at. He ignored the slight stutter of his heart, the way his gut clenched at the sight of the sparkling ring on her finger. One look into her eyes, though, and his heart settled. His eyes softened and a smile spread over his face. "Engaged, Bella? Who is this lucky guy? Ah, now I'm hurt! You weren't even going to tell me?"

Her grin was proud, happy… content. Carlisle breathed a little easier knowing that his consternation had gone unnoticed.

"Of course I was! I mean, I was going to send you a card. Wait," she scrambled to her feet and grabbed something from the desk in the corner of the room. His name looked back at him from the embossed envelope, and his smile this time came easier. She really did want him in her life. He felt emotion well up in his heart, and he gulped down the unexpected tears.

"I didn't know if you'd come, but I hoped… And his name is Edward Masen. We live here together actually. He should be back home soon, so you can meet him." She stood and grabbed her phone from the kitchen, rushing back. "Here, I'll show you pictures. He's 26, and just graduated from medical school. We met pretty soon after I moved here, so we've been together for more than 4 years already."

"Almost five years, babe," called out a deep, attractive voice from the direction of the front door. A tall, handsome young man with bright green eyes and tousled auburn hair walked in, happily accepting a hug from his fiancée. Turning to the older man, he paused, looking over swiftly at Bella, before holding out his hand. "I'm Edward Masen, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. Bella's told me a lot about you."

"Pleasure's mine, Edward. Please, call me Carlisle. And congratulations."

"So you will come, won't you?" Bella cut in, her excitement hard to contain.

"Of course I will, darling. Try and keep me away," Carlisle laughed at her hopeful expression. Then sobering up, he tentatively asked, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way… no one can replace Charlie, I know, but… would you mind if I walked you down the aisle?"

When Bella didn't speak or react in any way, Carlisle shifted uncomfortably and spoke up. "I understand, Bella. I was just hoping… I know it's been so long and you probably wouldn't want…"

Bella's tears stopped him short. With a quick look at an equally stunned Edward, Carlisle shifted closer to the crying girl and gently put an arm around her shoulders. "What is it, Bella? I'm sorry, ok. I won't bring it up again. I'm sorry."

"No," she wailed. "I want you to! I wanted it and I never thought it would happen, and now I'm so happy!"

Both men let out relieved sighs. Edward quickly retrieved a box of Kleenex, while Carlisle stroked her back comfortingly.

Bella sniffled, "God, I'm such a mess! But I can't help it, I'm just so happy."

"Excellent," said Carlisle. "That's one more person on your guest list, then."

"Just you?" Bella asked with a frown. "What about Elizabeth?"

"We've been divorced for years. We had already separated when Charlie passed, but she insisted on keeping up appearances till everything was finalized. You know how she was," he explained with a wry smile.

Bella let out a relieved sigh. "That's good to know. I know you were married to her and all, but I really hated her." Sitting up straight, she exclaimed, "Hey wait, so that night, I thought you were feeling guilty for cheating on her, but you were already separated?"

Carlisle's eyes widened comically and he looked askance at Edward, who was sitting forward with a highly amused look on his face.

"Oh yeah, I told him everything that happened," said Bella waving a dismissive hand. "He's been trying to get me to reach out to you for years."

Carlisle slumped back in the couch, looking at young couple balefully. "You two might have taken a little pity on an old man's heart."

She just laughed and stood up. "Sure, Carlisle, but where's the fun in that? Excuse me while I wash off all these tears. I'll be back in a minute."

As soon as she was out of sight, Carlisle spun around and caught Edward watching him closely.

"She really told you everything?"

He nodded.

"And you're really ok with it?"

Edward sighed and ran his hands over his face. "Strange as it may sound, yes. It's not like the two of you had some torrid, illicit affair. I'm actually really glad she had someone to turn to who genuinely cared for her. I mean, if you think about it, she could have hooked up with some ass who would have used her when she was down. She could have turned to drugs or alcohol. She could have gone out and done any number of stupid things. Seriously Carlisle, just let it go. Neither of us thinks you took advantage of her, ok?"

"Thanks, Edward. It's just a little difficult to wrap my head around after five years of self loathing, I guess," Carlisle said, ruefully. Then with a smile, he asked, "You really do love her, don't you?" He could have sworn Edward's ears pinked up.

"Yes, I really do. I'd do anything for her."

Carlisle nodded slowly.

"Besides," said Edward, "I trust her. And having met you, I can see why she'd go to you."

"Oh, because I'm so hot?" Carlisle joked.

"Yeah, sure," Edward rolled his eyes. "That, and I can see how much she means to you."

Carlisle's smile softened. "I've always thought of Charlie and Bella as my family. These last five years, it was like I'd lost both of them. So yeah, I am kind of ecstatic that she still wants me in her life."

"In _our_ lives," Bella said from the doorway. "You've always been family, Carlisle. You're still family."

At her words, something settled in his soul. For the first time in five years, he was at peace. He was home, and there was no longer room for regret in his life.

-..-..-


End file.
